


NotB Bonus Content

by sennawritesthings



Category: The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-01-14 22:06:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18485323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sennawritesthings/pseuds/sennawritesthings
Summary: just a couple of goodies from the fic that didn't fit and had to be cut or changed, but i still wanted to share (many of these will be super rough and skeletal in action, etc.)





	1. 12: Arin's Pov

**Author's Note:**

> so originally, chapter 12 was supposed to be written from arin's pov only, but it just wasn't working out. it was like pulling my teeth from my mouth. so i added kestrel's pov, which worked out better in the end, but i didn't want to get rid of what i'd already written, and i wanted to share it 🤗 (most of these are spoilers for the fic)

Arin wasn’t avoiding Kestrel—how could he? They lived together. It was impossible to avoid her unless he (or she) went out. (Which she did significantly less of, and he didn’t know why—not that he’d asked. Yet.)

 

Though, he was avoiding her. He knew it. She knew it every time she looked his way and he pretended not to notice. Every time she asked if he wanted to watch a movie and he pretended to be busy or tired. Every time she wanted to play Bite and Sting—which he knew was her way of trying to pry things from him—and he pretended he was bored of it.

 

How could he not, though, after what he said? After he’d almost thrown her out? It made him no better than her father.

 

Kestrel seemed to have forgiven him. He couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why. She deserved better.

 

During one of the nights he wasn’t-avoiding-but-completely-avoiding her in his office-library, she rushed in, snatching his book away from him. He noted that even though she glared at him, she carefully held his place. He fought the twitch in his lip.

 

“What is your problem?” She hissed, nesting herself between his legs so that he had to look up at her.

 

Every part of him told him to leave. He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air. “What do you mean?”

 

Her eyes narrowed at him. “ _What do you mean?”_ she mocked. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re leaving me alone!” Kestrel blanched at her own words, taking two steps back as if she’d been slapped. She blinked rapidly, setting her jaw. Her free hand curled at her side. Her eyes turned to the floor, dazed. “You’re… Leaving me alone,” she said again, softer, almost a whisper. “Just like…” Her lips downturned.

 

He hadn’t meant to make her feel lonely or to remind her of him. He hadn’t. It was that looking at her hurt. Looking at her and knowing that he said those things to her, when she hadn’t done anything, when it hadn’t been her fault, when she was a victim of abuse from the same man who could’ve ruined his life—it killed him.

 

It had only taken him two minutes to undermine everything she’d been through because someone else made him second guess himself and her. And he’d let his emotions get the better of him.

 

“Little Fists,” Arin sighed, reaching for her. She didn’t move toward him. She didn’t step back, either. She just stared at the floor, lost in her head. Arin dropped his hand. “I never meant to make you feel lonely.”

 

“No,” she said, waking from her stupor. She coldly added, “You just don’t want me here.”

 

Arin’s jaw went slack with horror. “Is that what you think? Is _that_ what you’re thinking?”

 

“You tried to kick me out.”

 

“I didn’t meant that, Kestrel. You know that.”

 

She nodded, almost absently. This time when Arin reached for her, she went to him, setting the book down on the arm of the armchair he sat on. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head against her stomach. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her hands massaging his scalp in a way that almost made him groan. Almost.

 

“But you’re avoiding me,” she mumbled.

 

“I’m not.” She tugged at his hair lightly. “Kestrel, I told you to leave. I thought the worst of you. Even if it was for one second, I doubted your abuse. Aren’t you angry with me?”

 

She sighed, pulling his head away from her core. She rested her hands on his shoulders. “I’ve forgiven you for that.”

 

“But I hurt you.” He’d seen the way she’d looked when he told her to leave. He’d heard her crying from behind his door. And he did nothing about it. How could he comfort her, when _he_ did that?

 

She shifted. She bit the inside of her cheek, like if she wanted to lie. “Yes,” she admitted. “You did.”

 

Arin’s heart was being shredded to ribbons. He felt like he was dying. He’d known that he had, but he still hadn’t been prepared to hear it. “Then why forgive me? You could leave if you want. I can buy you a place to live. You don’t have to stay.”

 

Kestrel shook her head. “That wasn’t you.”

 

“That’s not an excuse.”

 

She was silent for a moment. One of her fingers traced the line of his shoulder, his neck, then his jaw as she studied him thoughtfully. She tapped something out on his shoulder with her other hand. “You’re not him,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

 

Arin didn’t have to ask who she meant. “I’m sorry.”

 

She stepped away from him. “I’ve forgiven you,” she said, raising a hand when he tried to protest. “ _I’ve forgiven you_. So stop brooding and punishing yourself.”

 

He eyed her for a moment, dipping his head in a nod. He had a question on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask. He shouldn’t ask. He shouldn’t have asked. But he did. “Will you forgive _him_?”

 

Kestrel stared at him. And stared. And stared some more. Or maybe she wasn’t staring _at_ him as she was staring _through_ him.

 

At last, she said, “I don’t know.”

 


	2. "Play a game with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to 😊😭💕

When Arin had arrived home, he was met with the scent of warm honey. His smiled, his heart galloping in his chest. He and Kestrel may have been married for five years, but she still managed to make him feel the way he did when they’d first met. Wholly overwhelmed and enchanted. It had taken him some time to get used to Kestrel being in his home, and even more time to get used to being welcomed with the scent of honeyed half-moons on occasion and remember that it was not his mother who was making them. Even then, there were times he still thought of his mother.

 

Arin strode to the kitchen, hoping to catch Kestrel there, but it was empty, just as it had been years ago when she’d first made him the treat. He opened his drawer to find them in a container. He chuckled. It was probably her way of apologizing for her behavior.

 

Typically, Kestrel would’ve gone with him to the studio, but lately she’d been feeling tired and just a bit irritable. So she’d been staying home a lot more often to sleep. And sleep some more. Arin would’ve been concerned if it weren’t because he knew she could get that way with her monthly visitor.

 

He grabbed a few half-moons, shoving them into his mouth. Just as he was about to make his way up the stairs to their room, he caught a glimpse of her in the dining room, Bite and Sting tiles set up in front of her on the table. Her chin was in her hands as she stared into space. The distant gaze blinked away when he entered the room. She beamed at him. Something about her seemed extra… sunshiney than usual.

 

“Play a game with me.”

 

They hadn’t played Bite and Sting in a while—two years, when he thought about it. They hadn’t really needed to play for truths as they once had when they just talked to each other about everything now. _That_ concerned Arin. For all he knew, she could want to tell him that she wasn’t happy and wanted a divorce.

 

But when he leaned down to kiss her and she pulled him back before he could sit down so she could kiss him some more, he knew that wasn’t true. She shivered and a soft moan escaped from her throat when his tongue touched her lips. He chuckled, pulling away to rest his forehead on her.

 

“I,” she kissed him, “thought,” she kissed him, “you,” she kissed him, “wanted,” she kissed him, “to,” she kissed him, “play.”

 

She hummed, kissing him twice more before extracting herself from him. “I do,” she said, her voice slightly raspy. She eyed him head to toe, gripping his shirt tightly to pull him back down. “Just one more.”

 

She kissed him again, harder and hungrier. He thought they might never play the game, and he completely didn’t mind if she wanted to take things in another direction. But then she pulled away for good, leaning back in her chair with a tiny, satisfied smile on her face as she watched him sit down at the head of the table, with her at his right.

 

“Is this for truths?” Arin asked, drawing his tiles from the pile. He shifted slightly to readjust himself when he caught Kestrel’s thighs squeezing together.

 

“No,” she said as she rearranged a couple of her tiles. “We’re playing for items.”

 

Arin looked at her with a raised brow. Her eyes held a mischievous gleam, and the tiny smile she’d had turned into a full blown grin. He immediately knew that she knew about the surprise he had planned for her. 

 

He scowled. “Kestrel, you’re not supposed to know about that. Who told you?”

 

It was her turn to raise her brows. “People know?” She teetered on the edge of her seat as if she might bolt up and ask Sarsine or Roshar, but she laughed at the expression on his face. “I’m not saying I know anything specific, but I have my suspicions.”

 

“In any case, you’ll have to wait for it. It’s not ready yet.” ‘It’ being a custom made piano. The one they had back at the condo turned personal studio had some damage due to… certain circumstances between him and Kestrel. Multiple circumstances.

 

It was much easier to replace it than to repair it.

 

She shrugged. “That’s fine. You’ll have to wait for yours, too.”

 

“How are we supposed to swap anything if we don’t _have_ anything?”

 

“I _have_ something to show you,” she said with a roll of her eyes, setting down her first tile to initiate the game. “You’ll just be getting the surprise later.”

 

They played in silence, too invested in the game to really talk. Arin played to win, wanting to keep the piano a surprise for a little while longer. Whatever Kestrel’s suspicions were, he hoped they were wrong. Though it seemed like she didn’t completely know what the surprise was, he wouldn’t put it past her to pester Sarsine and Roshar about it. He trusted Sarsine not to say anything, but Roshar was a loose canon.

 

It didn’t occur to him that Kestrel hadn’t been playing as hard as he had been until he’d set his winning hand down. It was almost like she _wanted_ to lose. He thought about how she’d rearranged her tiles earlier.

 

“You cheated.”

 

She scoffed, “I lost. How did I cheat?”

 

He nodded at the tiles. “You set the game up. You had time to look at and pick out your tiles before I got home.”

 

She tilted her head to the side, pursing her lips in thought. “Is that something you’ve done before?”

 

He stared at her. “No, but it’s something you would do.”

 

She pouted. “I take offense to that.”

 

“You, dear wife of mine, are the most impatient person I know,” he said leaning over to take her hands into his. He brought her chair closer to him. “And you like to win. We know it’s something you would do.”

 

She tried to fight a smile, and Arin had to give her credit for trying. But smile she did, shaking her head with a chuckle. “To win,” she said. “I’d do that to win. Not lose.”

 

He narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion, even as he raised her trickster hands to his lips to shower with kisses, paying special attention to her birthmark. She squeezed his hands.

 

“Don’t you want your prize?”

 

“I’m looking at her.”

 

She flicked his nose, pulling her hands away from him to reach beneath the table. She pulled out a small gift bag and handed it to him. It was so light, he almost thought nothing was in it until he shook it and heard some rattling. Kestrel bounced her legs beside him. He removed the paper from the top and pulled a pair of tiny, white socks from the bag.

 

His heart stilled. The room vanished. He stared at the socks for a moment then set them aside to reach into the bag again. This time he pulled out two white sticks. One had two pink lines in the center and the other had the very clear word _pregnant_ on the small screen.

 

He turned his gaze to Kestrel, who gave him a timid smile. She took the items from him and set them on the table, then climbed over so that she straddled his lap.

 

“Arin.”

 

“Kestrel.” A strangled whisper that he wasn’t entirely sure if he’d spoken or thought.

 

She lifted her shirt, took his hands, and placed them on the small, but defined bump on her belly. One that he hadn’t noticed before, and felt like idiot for not when he knew her body even more than he knew his own.

 

“Husband,” she said, her thumbs stroking his wrists.

 

Arin ran his hands along the bump, up her waist, back down to the bump, and repeated. She shuddered, her arms wrapping around his neck. He stared her belly in awe. “Wife,” he said, leaning over to kiss it. He rested his head against it as her hands tangled in his hair. “We’re having a baby.”

 

“We’re having a baby,” she repeated and he could hear the joy in her words, picture the smile on her face.

 

He said it again as he kissed her belly over and over. When he looked up, Kestrel was crying, smiling. So, so happy, his heart swelled and his body warmed. Tears pricked his own eyes. He kissed her cheeks, showering her face with kisses as he’d done with her belly.

 

“We’re having a baby,” he said, mirroring her grin.

 

She giggled, kissing him lightly. “We’re having a baby.”


	3. 7: Kestrel's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 7 was originally written in kestrel's pov when i decided that wasn't working. there were scenes that i wanted in arin's pov and others that i saw in hers, so i semi-rewrote the chapter. but this is how far i got into it with kestrel's pov :D
> 
> (i left my notes so you could see where i wanted arin's pov to come in)

////////////////// CHANGE TO ARIN //////////////////

 

There were many times when Kestrel wondered how she’d gotten to where she was.

 

How had she come to live on the streets? That was easy. Her father nearly shattered her fingers and kicked her out.

 

How had she come to have such a father? The one wasn’t so easy. She was still figuring that out. She had at least half of the answer, though. Her father and mother procreated. She happened to be the lucky chosen egg.

 

How had she come to sit across Gray Eyes at the diner, with complete silence between them? She should’ve had an answer to that. Truly, she should have one. But for all the scrambling she did in her brain, she couldn’t think of one reason why she was sitting across from him, staring out of the window at the people and cars passing by while she had one of her hands in a glass full of ice.

 

He’d tried to help her up from the ground, and she’d ignored his offer opting to stand on her own. Then she’d tried to walk away as she had run away the last time they’d met. He’d stopped her—again—and asked if she was alright, but he didn’t mean just then. He’d been worried.

 

 _He’d been worried_. About _her_.

 

Kestrel glanced at him sidelong. He was toying with a straw wrapper, folding it into something.

 

She had already worked out that he _had_ been the one driving around the block last night, searching for her. And, when that hadn’t worked, apparently he’d thought to try during the day when it was lighter and much easier to distinguish faces. Her bumping into him was absolutely not a coincidence.

 

 _He’d been looking for her._ She wondered if the camera man had been sent by him then. She also wondered if he was an idiot.

 

Here was the man she’d epically failed to steal from… and he’d still given her the money. And who looked for someone who tried to steal from them if they didn’t plan on throwing them in jail? Who worried about them? Who asked their almost thief to have lunch with them?

 

Just what did he want with her?

 

Kestrel glanced down at her hand as she removed it from the ice. The swelling had gone down significantly. She’d just have to be careful. She could also have them officially checked—she still had quite a bit of money from Gray Eyes left over. It wouldn’t be enough, probably, but it would help her.

 

Grey Eyes cleared his throat. “How’s your hand?”

 

“Fine,” Kestrel responded, trying to not look at him even though she could feel his eyes on her. She could see him nod from the corner of her eye. He started toying with his straw wrapper again. It had only just occurred to her that maybe he was nervous, too. For what, she didn’t know.

 

They settled into silence again.Kestrel couldn’t help but bounce her leg. The alarm bells had softened, but they hadn’t stopped. She could’ve possibly walked into a trap.

 

“Why am I here?” She blurted, finally. She turned to him. “Why are _you_ here?”

 

Grey Eyes stared at her, _hard_. Like he was peeling away her secrets one by one. It made her feel exposed. His eyes quickly glanced at the table, and then back up to her face. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

 

“And, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

 

He nodded, pursing his lips.

 

Kestrel shifted closer to the edge of the booth they sat in, ready to make a run for it. “Last time you said you weren’t calling the cops.”

 

“I didn’t.” He paused, watching her before adding. “I’m not.” Grey Eyes flushed. “Stay and eat. I’m paying. I just—”

 

Their waitress, Lirah, came then, bringing their food. She asked Kestrel if she needed more ice, and when Kestrel declined, she winked at her on her departure.

 

“You were saying?”

 

Grey Eyes’s brows knitted together as he shoved a forkful of food in his mouth. Deviating, it seemed. _Something isn’t right._ Kestrel glanced at the window, eating a forkful of her own food. When she was confident the camera man wasn’t around, she turned back to Grey Eyes. “Why are we here?”

 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking at her hand that gripped her fork awkwardly. She wanted to hide it. “I don’t know,” he said again, looking at her now.

 

They ate in silence, watching each other. Sometimes it looked like Grey Eyes wanted to speak, but then decided against it and took a sip of his drink or a bite of his food. Sometimes Kestrel wanted to ask him something, but then decided that she didn’t know what to ask, so she took a sip of her drink or a bite of her food.

 

“What is your name?” She asked him. She couldn’t keep calling him Grey Eyes, even if it was only in her head and she’d never see him again after this. For some reason, that thought made her shoulders droop.

 

Grey Eyes blinked. “You mean… you don’t know?” He frowned when she shook her head. “So you didn’t try to steal my wallet because of that…” He drifted off, staring into the distance as he contemplated something before collecting himself and answering, “Smith.”

 

Kestrel didn’t believe it for one second, but she wouldn’t ask for his real one. She couldn’t be offended that he didn’t tell her his real name. She had, after all, tried to steal his wallet. So when he’d asked for her name, she immediately responded _Enai_ , hoping he’d give her the same courtesy.

 

“Smith” narrowed his eyes at her. “That isn’t your name.”

 

“Yes, it is.”

 

“No,” he set his fork down as he leaned back against the booth, “it isn’t. Enai is a very traditional Herrani name—so traditional it’s not even used anymore—and Herrani you are not.”

 

Kestrel couldn’t fight the roll of her eyes. “I didn’t question you when you said your name is Smith. Where did you even get that? Were you a smith in your past life?”

 

“Smith” snorted, “Maybe.”

 

She could’ve swore she was momentarily blinded by the force of his smile. But then his head turned to the window and his face paled as he muttered, “ _Shit_.” Then he sank low into the booth, his legs brushing against hers. He was too tall, though, so he pushed his plate forward and placed his head down on the table.

 

_Something isn’t right._

 

She turned her own head to the window, only to be blinded again. That time it wasn’t by “Smith’s” smile as she had originally thought (thankfully). It was the camera man again. Kestrel covered her face. She turned her back to the window. “Smith” was getting up, leaning over to close the shades. He did the same to the empty booth behind Kestrel and asked the couple who sat behind him to do the same.

 

Kestrel was miles away when he sat back down in their booth. The man had to be sent by her father. Who else would want pictures of her? He wanted them to make sure she was alive. To find her. To take her back. To finish what he started.

 

“Why is he after me?” She groaned, forgetting that she wasn’t alone.

 

“Why do you think he’s after you?” “Smith” asked, snapping her from her reverie.

 

“He—” Kestrel licked her lips, and when that didn’t take away the dryness, she took a sip of her water. “He was following me earlier. He took a picture of me then, too. I think… I think he’s been following me for the last couple of weeks.”

 

“Smith” frowned, his eyes flashed with… something. “But why?” She didn’t respond. He studied her face and thankfully, he didn’t press her based on what he saw on it. “Well, about that.” He ran his hand through his dark, unruly hair. Kestrel felt her mouth go dry again. “It’s not about you,” he said to her. “Not entirely, at least.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“Smith” rubbed the back of his head. Scratched and tugged at his ear (Kestrel flinched slightly at that). He was hiding something. Something that seemed like he wanted to tell her, but at the same time didn’t. He sighed.

 

“It means… You’re not safe. It means that where there’s one, more will possibly follow.”

 

Kestrel blinked at him. “Are you famous?”

 

“Something like that.” He grimaced.

 

They sat in silence as they had moments before. Kestrel brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top of them. “Smith” was famous, then. She had to admit she’d never been into celebrities, despite her father’s profession. She hadn’t really listened to music, either, despite how much she loved it. She may have loved music, but she had loved _her_ music. Her mother’s music.

 

It didn’t escape her that she’d actively avoided anything that might cause her joy, like watching TV or going out with Jess, for fear of her father taking it away. The only exception she’d made was playing the piano. It had been the only thing that kept her sane, that kept her going. She clenched her jaw, cradled her hands to her chest.

 

So, “Smith” was famous, and he’d brought the paparazzi to her doorstep. Well, her alley-slash-abandoned restaurant home. If the thought of her pictures, alongside ones of her home, popping up in magazines or the internet horrified her, she couldn’t imagine what “Smith” must be thinking. She’d ruin his reputation, and they weren’t even friends.

 

And the woman… Kestrel had ruined her, too. She’d have to tell her that they couldn’t live there anymore.

 

 _Because you are everything good and pure and whole and I am nothing._ She’d thought that had only applied to Jess, but she should’ve known better. She should’ve known—

 

“I think you should come live with me,” “Smith” said abruptly, breaking her train of thought. She hadn’t realized she’d almost cried. She blinked her tears away.

 

////////////////// KESTREL //////////////////

 

“What?”

 

“I think you should come live with me,” he said again.

 

He was definitely an idiot. A moron. An imbecile. Stupid.

 

Something within Kestrel began bubbling. Up and up it went, warming her from her head to her toes. She started laughing. “What?” She laughed until her ribs ached and her tears of sadness had turned to tears of laughter. People were staring at her, no doubt, and for once she didn’t care. “ _What?_ Are you out of your mind?”

 

“Smith” frowned. “I’m glad you find this so amusing.”

 

“Because you’re out of your mind.”

 

“I’m trying to help. It’s only going to get worse.”

 

Kestrel wiped her eyes. “By inviting me into your home?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Did you forget the pickpocketing thing?”

 

“Smith” glared at her. “ _No_ , I did not forget the _pickpocketing thing_. I just can’t think of another place that would be safe enough for you.”

 

She lowered her legs to the ground, swerving so that her back was against the booth. “I’m not moving in with you.”

 

“But—”

 

“No,” she said, firmly. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll make it work. But I’m not moving in with you. Besides, I don’t know you. I’m not going anywhere alone with you.” He snorted. She glared, curling her hands into fists. “You don’t know me, either. How do you know I wouldn’t kill you in your sleep? I did try to steal from you.”

 

“The keyword is try _,_ Little Fists,” he said with a laugh. “You _failed_ to steal from me. I doubt you’d succeed at killing me.”

 

It was Kestrel’s turn to flush. _Little Fists_. Did her heart just skip a beat? She stood from the booth, ready to leave. He did weird things to her, this famous, gray eyed “Smith”. She didn’t like it.

 

“The point,” she croaked. She cleared her throat, suddenly angry. “The point is, it’s a stupid idea. Thank you for lunch, but I’m actually quite busy today so I have to go.” She turned and had just gotten a couple steps before before she turned back. “Also, thank you, again, for the money last time. I really appreciated it.”

 

She had managed to leave the diner, and get a block away before “Smith” came after her. She crossed the street, “Smith” calling after her. Her eyes checked for the paparazzi, but she didn’t see him. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t around, though.

 

She had to get away. The alarm bells were going off. Her heart was racing. Her lungs weren’t working properly. She saw the tug of an ear. She could feel the bones in her fingers snapping. She could hear the keys of the piano smashing all together. She was in that room, in that house, with that man all over again. And she didn’t know why. _She didn’t know why_.

 

A hand on her shoulder stopped her in her tracks. Stopped her lungs. Stopped her heart. _He was going to kill her._

 

A torso covered by a black t-shirt filled her vision. Jeans. Sneakers. Things her father never wore. And then, “Enai.”

 

Right. _Right_. She wasn’t in that house. She wasn’t with her father. Her fingers were healed, some still healing if they were ever going to heal. Right. _Whoever did this to you doesn’t deserve anything from you._ Yes.

 

“Are you— Are you crying?” “Smith” asked her, alarmed.

 

Kestrel rubbed her eyes, sniffling. She hadn’t realized that she was. She sniffled again. “No.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Kestrel tilted her head to look up at him. Her brows furrowed. “What?” She shook her head. “You didn’t. I’m fine.” She rubbed a few stray tears away. “I’m fine. It’s not about you.”

 

“Smith” breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled a napkin out of his pocket, handing it to her.

 

“That would’ve been more helpful five seconds ago.”

 

He chuckled, “That’s not what it’s meant for.” He motioned for her to open it. “It’s my number. I’m not asking for you to come live with me again, but I do want you to call me if you need anything. Please, especially call me if you find a sea of cameras surrounding you at any given moment.”

 

Kestrel opened the napkin to find his scrawled handwriting on it. As well as more money. She held it up.

 

“That’s for you.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Smith” shrugged. “I want to help.”

 

“There are millions of homeless people you could help. Why me?”

 

He shrugged again. “Just stay safe, okay?”

 

And then it was his turn to walk away.

 

“Oh,” she said, just before he was out of her perimeter. “My name is Kestrel.”

 

He grinned at her over his shoulder. This time she was certain it was his smile that blinded her. “I’m Arin.”

 

////////////////// CHANGE TO ARIN //////////////////

 

Kestrel thought of Arin as she lay on the thin, bundle of blankets in her makeshift home. It had gotten a lot cooler than earlier, so she’d taken some of the woman’s blankets too. She curled into them, her fingers tracing over the numbers Arin had written on the napkin.

 

In her other hand she held the money he’d given her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a small snippet of the scene where sarsine finds out about kestrel that i wasn't feeling, so ended up rewriting to make it better. it was definitely going to be more confrontational and hostile and that's why i didn't like it so much

It was Arin’s turn to blow out a long sigh. He raked his hand through his hair, then slightly tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Sarsine,” he said, cautiously as if saying her name would would set off an alarm.She was instantly alert, sitting on the edge of the couch with her eyebrows furrowed. “I have to tell you something.”

 

Sarsine blinked. “Arin, you’re—” Her gaze drifted past him, her brows shooting up and her parted.

 

“Oh.” He heard from his side.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

Sarsine’s eyes flickered to him and then back again. Surprised. Questioning. Then finally, she turned to him, glaring.

 

Arin stood, walking over to Kestrel. Her face was pale.

 

“I didn’t know you had company.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's an alternate, smutty version of chap 14.
> 
> i gotta say, not bad to be written by a virgin. but also pls keep in mind that i am a virgin who gets her knowledge of sex from books, fics, and shows/movies 😅 but it's good practice right?
> 
> hope you enjoy! 💕

Kestrel woke to Arin’s slumbering face. Their noses nearly touched. Their hands clasped between them. She watched him until his eyelids fluttered open. He gave her a lazy, sleepy smile, his eyes shutting once more.

 

“Morning,” he drawled. She shuddered at the sound of his raspy voice.

 

“Good morning.”

 

Arin opened his eyes again. He watched her as she watched him. She lifted her free hand to his face, tracing his stubbly jawline, the curve of his cheekbone, his nose, eyelids, forehead. At his lips, he turned his head into her hand to press soft kisses to every line of her palm, the inside of her wrist, up the length of her fingers to their tips. He flipped her hand and kissed her nails, the back of her hands, her knuckles, her freckle. Then he took her other hand, the one clasped in his, and did the same. His eyes never left hers.

 

Kestrel’s body felt warm. Too, too warm. She was seconds away from panting with how breathless she’d become. Everywhere his lips touched, her skin burned. He brought her hands to his cheeks, much like she had done days before. He peppered one of her palms with kisses.

 

“You don’t have to go,” he murmured against her skin.

 

She didn’t know how she found it in herself to speak, but she managed to choke out, “Yes, I do.”

 

Arin pulled her closer to him, throwing a leg over her. He nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck. A finger traced the hem of his shirt at her thigh, grazing her skin lightly. His breath tickled her neck, his lips… did other things to her. She had to remember to breathe. How could she do that when she didn’t remember anything but how his lips pressed against her neck and his finger slipped beneath the shirt to run over the length of her thigh from her hip to her knee?

 

She was pretty sure the strangled gasp that echoed through the room had came from her because she felt Arin’s lips curve against her jaw and heard the smile in his voice when he said, _“My precious girl_ , stay with me.”

 

Stay with him? She was rooted to the bed, where else was she going to go? She had a feeling he meant something different than what she thought, but she couldn’t think when his lips were traveling the length of her neck to her collarbone and all the way up to a particularly sensitive spot by her ear. Her hands found his shirtless chest, running her hands on his torso and arms. Her lips, her lips, she needed him to kiss her lips. His hand had clasped around her knee, moving up, up, up, his fingers just barely grazing her inner thigh working up toward the curve of her cheek.

 

Somewhere outside, a donkey was braying. Or it could’ve been a whale dying.

 

Arin chuckled softly. “Stay here with me. Don’t go.”

 

She wasn’t going anywhere. Confession be—

 

She pushed at Arin’s chest. “You—,” she took a deep breath to steady her pants. She pushed at him again as she tried to curve her body away from him. “You’re trying to distract me.”

 

Arin pulled away, eyeing her with a raised brow. “Is it working?”

 

She was too distracted by the flush of his skin and the hunger in his eyes as they scanned her, lingering on the collar of his shirt, her blanketed curves, then up to her face, no, her lips and stayed there. _Yes_ , she thought. Yes, it was working. Yes, please kiss her.

 

She licked her lips and Arin mimicked the movement. “Yes.”

 

She shuddered as Arin cupped her cheek in his hand, pulling her even closer to him. She could feel his want against her thigh. He sighed as he rested his forehead against hers, his breath tickling her lips. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

 

“You don’t wear a shirt or pants to sleep.”

 

A choked noise that sounded like a laugh mixed with a tortured groan escaped from the back of his throat as his lips touched her cupid’s bow. Her whole body trembled as she wrapped her arms around him. Her lips tingled.

 

“I want to kiss you, Kestrel,” he said, kneading her ass in his hand in a way that forced noises she never knew she could make from her mouth. His other hand, the one trapped beneath her was snaked around her waist, traveling along her sides, rubbing circles in her hip and squeezing it, sending tremors straight to her core. She bucked into him and Arin hissed.

 

“ _Please_ ,” she pleaded, not recognizing her own strangled voice.

 

Arin pulled away to look at her, his eyes flashing with something she couldn’t understand. Not that she could understand much when his hands were on her and she couldn’t breathe without the throbbing between her legs worsening. But then Arin rolled her onto her back, nestling between her legs. They weren’t perfectly aligned, but she didn’t think about it as Arin’s lips crashed onto hers.

 

Kestrel had always imagined that her first kiss would be awkward on her end. She’d always imagined it as slow and soft. Shy, butterfly kisses that made her stomach full of goo. But thinking of that now nearly made her laugh. She’d never trade this hard, hungry kiss for that. Never. Even as their teeth clashed.

 

His hands were beneath her shirt, his fingers tickling the curves of her breasts. She arched into him, seeking his touch.

 

“Kestrel,” he breathed against her skin. His lips slid to her jaw, her neck. He kissed her throbbing pulse point, nibbling at her flesh.

 

There had to have been a kitten out mewling, she was sure of it. A donkey, a whale, and a kitten. She should get up and do something about it, but Arin’s hands had found her breasts and she very much wanted to stay right where she was. He pushed her shirt up, watching his thumbs circle her painfully hardened nipples, then watching her face as he lowered his mouth to bring one of them into his mouth.

 

“ _Arin_.” He switched to her other breast. She very much wanted more.

 

More, more, so much more.

 

And Arin… was taking his sweet time to touch her where she needed him the most. She ripped her shirt from her body, tossing it to the floor. She tangled her hand in Arin’s hair, tugging lightly until his mouth left her skin and he allowed her to bring his lips back to hers. Her hips ground into his, their mutual moans spilling into their mouths like air.

 

It still wasn’t enough.

 

Kestrel pushed at Arin until he lay on his back. His eyes raked over her completely naked body with a hunger that made her clench her thighs together. She climbed over him, spreading her hands over his torso. She felt him tremble beneath her as she traced the lines of his abs. She moaned when his hips jerked into hers as her hands met the line of his hips where the waistband of his boxers lay.

 

Arin thrust his hips into her again and again, slow and steady. He kneaded her thighs, starting at her knee and moving up as his hips lifted, until his thumbs rested just before her core, rubbing circles on her inner thighs and back down when his hips lowered. She ground into him roughly. The friction of his underwear both pleasing and irritating.

 

 

She pulled his boxers away and he stilled.

 

She’d have been lying to herself if she didn’t admit that the sight of his swollen, twitching length didn’t make her mouth water or make her wetter and pulse with need. But when she looked up at his flushed face, he was watching her with wariness.

 

She licked her lips, trying to find her voice. “Arin… We don’t have to—”

 

“No,” he said, shifting so that he sat up. He kissed her softly. “I want to. It’s just… I’ve never… I mean…”

 

She smiled, scraping her nails along his spine lightly. She watched between them as his member pulsed. She shimmied closer so her heat just barely kissed his flesh. She looked back up at him to find his eyes cast down between them as hers had been. “I haven’t either.”

 

Arin nodded dazedly. “It’s just… Kestrel, I don’t have protection. And I can assume you’re not on birth control?”

 

Oh. She hadn’t thought of that. She hadn’t thought of anything except wanting him to kiss her and touch her and fill her. She hadn’t thought of anything but wanting Arin. His mind and his body and his heart and his soul. She wanted him all.

 

“I’m not,” Kestrel confirmed. Arin’s shoulders slumped a little before tensing as she slid a hand between them. He inhaled sharply when she wrapped it around him firmly, stroking him lightly, pressing kisses to his jaw relish in his groans. She set her other hand on his chest, gently pushing him to lay back down. “But we can do other things. Do what we were doing.”

 

She settled her flesh on his, skin to skin now, taking precaution not to accidentally slide him inside her like she desperately wanted to. Arin’s eyes fluttered shut. Hers followed with a sigh. For a moment neither of them moved, simply taking in each other’s warmth.

 

It was Kestrel that moved first, a hard shudder moving through her body from her head to her toes and back, making her nipples stiffen again. Arin gripped her hips as he thrust his hips to meet hers. He let his hand crawl up to her breast, pinching and twirling her nipple between his fingers.

 

The sounds of their heavy breathing and their moans filled the room like a symphony. She never wanted it to end. She wanted to listen to it, to hear it for the rest of her life. She wanted to learn it and put it into notes to play on the piano.

 

Arin sat up again, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer, closer. His movements becoming faster and jerkier. He crushed his lips to hers and she nipped at his lips. She kissed her way to his neck, his shoulder, biting and sucking at his skin. One of his hands slipped between them and his fingers found her clit.

 

She shouted into his shoulder, her movements becoming more frantic the harder he pressed his fingers into her.

 

“Kestrel,” Arin groaned into her hair and she wrapped her hand around him, stroking him in time to the movement of his hand. “Kestrel, stop. I can’t—”

 

But her head rolled back as she gasped, crying out, “ _Arin_.” Her thighs clenched tightly around him as she violently trembled her release.

 

“ _Shit_ ,” she heard Arin curse, but she was still high in the clouds to notice anything that wasn’t the kisses he placed on her collarbone, her shoulders, neck, and face and how he softly murmured, “you’re so beautiful,” over and over. Or his hands rubbing her back soothingly as she came back down to him. She wondered briefly how he was so good at this.

 

Kestrel giggled softly, nuzzling her nose into his neck as she kissed his throat. She nipped at his jaw playfully. “You said you were a virgin.”

 

“A virgin, Little Fists. Not a monk.” He lay her on the bed, kissing her cheek. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

 

Where else was she going to go? She watched him leave the room, paying particular attention to his butt as she settled into the pillows and pulled the blanket over her. When he returned, he handed her a wad of tissue paper. He snuggled into the blanket with her.

 

She arched her brow at him. “What’s this?”

 

“For you to... ah,” he flushed, clearing his throat. “Clean up.”

 

It was only when he mentioned it that she felt her hand and parts of her stomach and thighs sticky and slightly tight. She felt her cheeks warm as she rubbed at the spots with the tissue. “Oh. I… didn’t notice.”

 

He chuckled as she set the tissue aside, then burrowed into the blankets again. Arin reached for her and pulled her close, resting his cheek on her head. She wrapped her arms around him as best as she could, her fingers tapping against his ribs. They lay together quiet, pensive. He’d kiss her head or her temple. She’d nip at his jaw and kiss the corner of his mouth.

 

She knew what he was going to say before he said it.

 

“You don’t have to go,” he repeated.

 

Kestrel did have to go. But she didn’t want to. And really, what was one—his finger curved against the side of her ribs— _two_ more days?

 

“Yes, I do,” she said again. She pressed a kiss to his nipple. “But not today.”

 

Arin grinned cheekily. He rolled on top of her, pressing a kiss to her throat.

 

“And,” she brought his mouth to hers, “I think you should go out for some condoms.”


End file.
